


Then the act itself will be louder than the word

by ateverbti



Series: Rootless Tree [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Derek Has Issues, Established Relationship, Insecure Derek Hale, Love, M/M, POV Derek Hale, Sexual Content, Unspoken Love, non graphic sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 15:40:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ateverbti/pseuds/ateverbti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This isn’t desire. Desire is sweeter, simpler. Dilated pupils, slightly faster breathing, sheen of sweat on skin. Desire is stretching mouth into a smile, it’s something primitive and animalistic. It’s a word full of empty gestures, sounds and touch. Like a fever, a disease that cannot be cured, something natural and very personal. It’s easy to make a mistake, give a simple name to complicated things. It’s harder to understand, feel, say. Desire is salty skin, sand in short hair and sweetness on the lips.</p><p>Morning after events in "Titanium".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Then the act itself will be louder than the word

**Author's Note:**

> I just felt like writting something sweet. Title of this fic is taken from the song by Dry The River, "History Book". Unfortunately fic is unbeta'd and there may be some mistakes (grammar or spelling). I hope that You'll like it even with them :) 
> 
> Enjoy!

This isn’t desire. Desire is sweeter, simpler. Dilated pupils, slightly faster breathing, sheen of sweat on skin. Desire is stretching mouth into a smile, it’s something primitive and animalistic. It’s a word full of empty gestures, sounds and touch. Like a fever, a disease that cannot be cured, something natural and very personal. It’s easy to make a mistake, give a simple name to complicated things. It’s harder to understand, feel, say. Desire is salty skin, sand in short hair and sweetness on the lips.

The sky above them is blue, bright and clean, like at almost every summer mornings. It’s all too clear when Derek opens his eyes. He could reach and touch the clouds with his hand, they’re so low, as if they floated just above their heads. Lazy, white fluff.  Sun’s rays are too bright, golden and warm to his bare skin. Stiles is still asleep, his face cradled in a soft pillow, he’s breathing quietly, calmly. This is the only moment when his thoughts aren’t trying to blow him from the inside, when they doesn’t run away, doesn’t tear his skin just come back again and again try to get out. At such times, werewolf doesn’t know if he ever should wake Stiles up. He should sleep as long as he need, even if it would last for eternity. Just a few minutes more and the boy will open his eyes, reach for the next pill, his smell will be destroyed by chemicals and caffeine.

Stiles’ breath accelerates, eyelids are twitching slightly and his lips begin to mutter some words. His fingers tightening on Derek’s shoulder. This is the half-sleep, the time between full consciousness and uncontrollable impulses. At such times, the alpha is afraid, because he knows that it’s true, it cannot be faked. Stiles is with him, holding him tightly, as if the wolf is going to disappear, vanish into thin air. There’s a hint of possessiveness, weird assurance, something elusive that scares him. Because it cannot be trust, the trust must hurt, must have been paid in blood, sometimes with life. This feeling is full of fear, but also fills an empty shell with no thoughts. It builds him from scratch. Derek doesn’t know, he isn’t sure if he should let that happen to him.

“Good morning”, words muttered under his breath, not quite clear, just near the alpha’s ear, “Are you awake?”

“Yes, I am”.

“That’s good”.

This isn’t the first time when they lie next to each other, but some of the last times were full of pain, fear and blood. Marked with remorse and stolen moments. Empty and lonely, even though they were side by side. Mornings smelling liquid antiseptics, of rain and forest. Dirty and unpleasant. This one is different. Quiet and warm. More frightening than the previous one.

Stiles lingers awkwardly, arm covering his face, he doesn’t want anyone to watch him now. It’s morning, no one looks good at this time. Derek doesn’t understand, form him it never mattered. It’s just nonsense. If only Stiles knew how he really look for his alpha. But the werewolf doesn’t speak, the words won’t pass his throat now. Once, in another life, he tried, but the sentences were lopsided and silly. They didn’t meet with favor.  That’s why now he prefers to remain silent and just look at Stiles. From a distance.

Every muscle is tight again, senses heightened. He shouldn’t feel like that, not at every morning, when the first thing on his thought is a threat. Arms hurt for so long, even though he doesn’t know why. Pain – penetrating, piercing every cell of his body. Oddly slighter when he feel soft touch, almost imperceptible. Barely fingertips. He wants it, but he cannot open his mouth, afraid that the only sound will be a squeal of scared and lonely puppy.

Stiles shakes his head, because he know. Derek always said that Stiles knew too much, heard too much and seen too. It always push him into troubles. So Derek tries to keep him at bay, away from danger but it’s impossible. Stiles knows more than he should for his own good. Now he is silent, and alpha is damn grateful for that. He looks at boy’s half-closed eyes and wonders why. He doesn’t understand why Stiles wants to be here. Why he fell asleep, snuggled into him, despite the fact that just yesterday they couldn’t even look at each other.

The blood isn’t filtering into the bandage anymore, wounds inflicted by alphas are mostly healed. He feels little pain, but it goes with each soft touch. This isn’t the first time, but it’s different. It’s not a car, abandoned warehouse or the ruins of the burned house. There’s no need to rush, to pull. They don’t have to be careful and hide from curious eyes. The don’t shout at each other, there are no aggression anymore. Just silence. They’re alone, sun rays beams from the window at the roof. It’s lazy and sleepy. This isn’t the first time, but they want it to be. Alpha wants. It’s better, easier. When the bed not reeks of blood and dust, when he can lean his head on a soft pillow.

Stiles is patient and that’s new and unexpected. His fingers glides along Derek’s collarbone, nails slightly hooking on rough, werewolf’s skin. Boy mutters something under his breath, vague words, stream of thoughts, which he cannot close in his head. Touch is getting lighter, as if he is afraid that Derek doesn’t want it. Alpha closes his eyes, muffled growl breaks into air, when he feels moist, soft lips on his cheek. This lips sometimes bleed, sometimes Stiles tighten them so much that they are just thin line, and sometimes he bite them lightly when he’s thinking about something.

He shouldn’t be here. They both should be on two ends of the world, away from each other. They still fights, fights because Stiles is stubborn and sarcastic, because Derek is as stubborn and can be easily provoked. Their relationship, friendship, whatever it is, is like sitting on a powder keg. They should hate each other, because they are tangle of cynicism, sarcasm, guilt and anger. But instead of fists and harsh words, werewolf hears Stiles whispering silent assurances. He tries to keep himself quiet, he was always good at it, but instead he responds to boy’s words. They’re pretty darn different, as fire and ice, but underneath it all there’s something more, which scares the alpha. They’re alike.

Derek doesn’t want to think about, not when he touches light skin, fingers paints patterns between Stiles’ shoulder blades. When his lips finds that point where neck connects to the clavicle. Boy is no longer silent, his breathing and heart rate are getting faster, like a melody, for which compositor couldn’t give an equal pace. The one, when Derek bites him on the shoulder is a loud hiss. Next, when his tongue glides along Stiles’ neck, is a low moan. When alpha kisses him on the lips, he hears nothing but his own blood, raging in his veins. When the boy’s fingers glide on his abdomen, lower and lower, he hears a quiet growl. His own. Maybe this is some kind of warning, but Stiles just shakes his head and smiles slightly. He knows better.

In his mind was always Kate. Kate, death, fire, hunters, loneliness and fear. She is still there, somewhere in the bottom of his skull, hidden deep from the world. He was fifteen years old and stupid. He should forget, but it’s still there. There are eyes and smile, and sweet words. There is fire as soon as he closes his eyes. But today it’s different, once again he has control over himself. He’s a beast and a man at the same time, a sense of guilt, still strong, moves away from his for a few moment. He feel his stomach clenching, every time when he slightly moves his hips. He’s afraid that his fingernails will turn into claws and teeth into fangs. He breathes with difficulty, when Stiles gently strokes his cheek. It’s the right thing, a kind of power that boy has on him. Even the wolf is purring, happy and safe.

Boy’s eyes are almost black, full of something that Derek doesn’t know and doesn’t want to name. His are red, but Stiles is still looking straight at him, never ceases to touch, kiss. He’s with him. Doesn’t see him as a beast, which is just under Derek’s skin, trying to claws its way out. He licks his lips, suddenly too dry, he’s saying something with hoarse voice. Nonsenses when slender fingers closed around him. He doesn’t fight with it, because it’s Stiles and it’s goof. It should always be. Idiotic feeling somewhere in the empty shell that he has instead of a heart. Derek swallows quietly, turning his head. Suddenly, his cheeks are red, too much blood flows in his veins.

This should only be a desire. Blank and easy feeling, animal instinct. The point at which all thoughts fly away from the head, where only remains touch and wanting. Just sex, nothing more. No ties, no trust, friendship, understanding. The sharp taste on the tongue, irritating all the senses. But it’s different. There is some fear and uncertainty. Just like at the moment, when he opened his eyes in the morning, reluctantly feeling, that he would be alone. It’s a strange warmth that has so much in common with Stiles’ smell, his smile. There are lazy, slow kisses and whispers. It’s easier to convince himself that this is just sex. But Derek knows it’s a lie. He was always good at lying to himself.

Maybe one day he’ll forget everything, stop blaming himself for everything around and learn to forgive. He would like that. Maybe finally he’ll understand and stop running. But now he’s still trying to escape Stiles’ slim shoulders. Finally, Derek gives up, because nothing else matters. Now it’s all about bare skin under his fingers, slick with sweat, body next to a body. He want to touch him, to know all the places on his skin, so Stiles will collapse under his fingertips, but the boy grabs his hand.

“Not today”.

“Why?”

“Today is about you, not me”.

He doesn’t understand, not after he did last night. He knows, he screwed up, crossed the line. It’s not difficult to realize, when he still remembers cold touch, when Stiles bandaged him. And those sad, brown eyes. He want to scream, that it’s about them, about the deficit of trust, stupid desire of controlling everything and damn messiah complex. About that he is trying to take everything on his shoulders, alone, pushing off people who are important to him. But maybe it’s just about him, about his fear and pride. He slips slick fingers into Stile’s strands, looks for his lips. He cannot say and doesn’t want to say, but in one kiss he’s trying to show everything he feels. Stiles knows, that damn bastard always knows and he’s still with him, although many time, he should leave. Turn his back on Derek, shrug his shoulders and disappear.

Moan sounds like a whine. There’s nothing beautiful or perfect in it, but it’s the only sound that comes out of his mouth now. He moves his hands on his boyfriend’s thighs, sops them on the hips, holds him tight. He knows that Stiles will have bruises, but he cannot stop. He’s afraid that soon everything will disappear and he will wake up in the midst of the ruins of the burned house. Derek rises slightly, to embrace Stiles, to push him even closer, so that there isn’t no longer any border between them, no barrier. Stiles bites his lips, in that idiotic way that shouldn’t be so hot.

This isn’t their first time, but Derek wants it to be. When Stiles submits, leaning his head back, showing his trust. Stiles is not a wolf, he’s annoying teenager who’s never shut up. But now, he’s quiet, except for silent breath and his heartbeat. Boy smiles and kisses Derek, barely touching alpha’s lips. He entwines his fingers over werewolf’s  and buries his face in the hollow of Derek’s neck. It’s too much for him. Skin is too tight, all the words and thoughts wants to get out. Derek freezes. Stiles frantically repeats his name, breath is tickling his skin. Always tense muscles relax, his breathing slowly returning to normal.

“I’m sorry”, he says hoarsely.

Stiles shakes his head and hugs him even closer, tighter. Derek didn’t think it was possible. For a moment in silence, they’re together, side by side. The boy kisses him again, on the cheek, lips, eyelids and alpha know that it cannot be just lust. Lust is easier and sweeter. It’s serotonin. It’s sweetness in the mouth and dilated pupils. It’s such a simple equation. It’s sex, naked body, nothing more.

There are so many words he would say now, but he just close his eyes. Stiles breathes softly, stroking his hair. Sometimes it’s louder than the words.  

 


End file.
